Resurrection
by stefanie bean
Summary: Snape is dying, and Hermione is the only one who can bring him back. (Non-canon, set in Book 7.)


**Resurrection**

**(non-canon, during Book 7)**

Hermione hadn't dared to wear the little silver hourglass openly around her neck. Even though there was no Ministry of Magic anymore, not that anyone would recognize at least, she still trembled at the thought of harsh penalties, at the shame of being caught. Now, as she tried to draw out the charm, her hands shook so badly that they could barely unbutton the high neck of her blouse. She pulled too hard, and one button skidded onto the floor, making no noise as it slipped across the blood-drenched granite.

He lay in a red pool. It was hard to tell if it was all his blood, or the blood of some of the slain sprawled out beside him. She looked him over, pawing over his damp clothes, but couldn't find any wounds or holes, nothing to show from where that red flood had come. His long, thin neck was paler now than she'd ever seen it. Father had showed her how to find the pulse, what actions to take if someone had fallen unconscious, not breathing, without a beating heart. For the first time in years she wished Father were here. He would know what to do.

She pushed away Severus Snape's long dark hair, shuddering a little at the touch, all the animosity forgotten now as she felt about for the thick artery which she knew lay right under the sharp jawbone. She pressed. Nothing. She moved his head, even though Father had told her not to do that if someone was injured. But she had to feel the other side, although there was nothing, not the tiniest flutter.

How long before the brain died? A stab of rage went through her, sudden and fierce. Damn Hogwarts for not teaching science. No biology, no anatomy, no chemistry. She wished she'd paid more attention to Father back then. What was it, six minutes? Eight at most?

Then it came to her. Of course. She twiddled the time-turner. It had to be done carefully - go back too far, and she'd find herself in the middle of a pitched battle, and the dead strewn about the room might no longer lie still. Too soon, and what was left of Snape wouldn't be able to wipe up his own drool, if he lived at all.

A rush of wind; a swirling flow of all the particles of that horrible stone room, and it was done. The first thing Hermione noticed was that the blood in which she kneeled was brighter and not so sticky as it had been an hour later. Then she quickly collected herself and thrust her hand hard onto the neck of Severus Snape.

There it was, a tiny flicker, and then another. The remnant of a heart about to fade out. But his chest didn't rise and fall; he lay still as a corpse, the corpse he would become if she didn't do something, and soon. She pinched his nostrils together and placed her mouth on his.

He tasted sour, of blood and something acidy, as if he hadn't had anything to drink for a long time. She suppressed the to retch. Then her father's words came back to her, "Once you start, you have to keep going until help comes. If you don't think you can do it, Herm, don't even start it. There's nothing wrong with that. You can only do what you can."

What about the chest? Oh, that's right - if there was a pulse, even the faintest, you didn't push on the chest like that. She kept her mouth on his as a terrible debate raged in her heart. No help would come, of that she was sure. Could she do it? And if it was pointless, if his heart just faded to nothing anyway, what would she do then?

Never mind. She took a deep breath through her nose, then blew, hard at first, until she remembered to make little puffs. A big breath in, a few out, on and on she went, until she grew dizzy and had to slow down for a few seconds. Can't stop, she thought. And so on she went, until it seemed like the whole hour she'd turned back had recovered itself on the great wheel of time. She leaned on his chest to support herself, and his sudden heaving threw her off. He gasped, choked, and then coughed up a wet mass of phlegm and blood.

Eyes unfocused, he seemed at first not to know her. He took in great gulps, and lay there quietly, staring at the vaulted ceiling, then turned away from her. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, it was obvious that he was quietly crying.

"Why?" Snape finally whispered in a hoarse, ruined voice. "Why did you bring me back?"


End file.
